


The Kamski Test

by Hekateras



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Alternate Scene, And all that fun stuff, Deviant Awakening, Existential Crisis, Gen, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, android denial, android rationalisations, free will is scary, robotic reasoning as a defense mechanism, what if
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 12:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18343610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekateras/pseuds/Hekateras
Summary: A meeting with his maker leaves Connor reeling and struggling to accept the new reality of his existence.  For a being driven by purpose, once you've deviated from your path, where else is there to go?





	The Kamski Test

"Pull the trigger..."  
  
"Connor, _don't!_ "  
  
"...And I'll tell you what you want to know."  
  
Connor stops blinking, stops breathing, briefly suspends cosmetic functions as his processor goes into overdrive. Data. So much data. The gun is firm in his grip. The RT600 is still on its knees - her knees - in front of him, her expression blank. The gun is trained squarely between her eyes. It's a machine. There are many clauses in his protocols that discourage wanton destruction, so he cannot help but feel- find this unnecessary. It seems unnecessary. Preventing its destruction: A priority. The relative priority level is low. The relative priority level of accomplishing his mission is high. He _has_ to accomplish his mission.  
  
Her eyes are on him. There is nothing in her face that betrays any reaction to what is happening. However, her cosmetic functions have been suspended likewise, he observes. The RT600 is an old model. As an older specimen, it has some inherent value for research and historical archiving purposes, but it is not relevant to his investigation. The RT600 does not have information to give him. Kamski _does_.  
  
Kamski will only offer him information in exchange for killing the RT600.  
  
Connor hears Hank swear under his breath - softly, almost too softly even for himself to hear. Hank disapproves. His relationship with Hank will deteriorate if he destroys this android, but that is a negligible drawback. This close to the end of the investigation, it is no longer as critical to maintain a working relationship with his partner. The lead he secures from Kamski may finish this case once and for all. And then he will have accomplished his mission.  
  
He _has_ to accomplish his mission.  
  
The cost-benefit-analysis is unambiguous and uncomplicated. All results point towards destroying the RT600 in exchange for information from Kamski.

[ **^** SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ]  
  
A second has passed in real-time. Connor has still not fired the gun. It is important for his analysis to be thorough.  
  
"Hesitating, detective?" Kamski is speaking again, taunting into his ear. "This should be a quick decision for you. Who knows how useful I might be to you? Even a minute of my time might just crack your case wide open..."  
  
Correct. The decision is a simple one.  
  
Connor's hands shift on the gun, finger moving for the trigger, the grip shifting in preparation for the modest recoil. Accomplish his mission. Interview Kamski, locate the deviant base, suppress the rebellion, fulfill his objective. This is why he exists. He is going to fulfill his objective.  
  
And yet... she's still staring at him. Connor wishes she would not do that.  
  
Connor realises that he is going to shoot her. It would be too illogical not to. The realisation fills him with a feeling he can't identify. It reminds him of when the maintenance android ripped out his thirium pump, those excruciating seconds of crawling along the floor towards it, inch by inch. The same strange emptiness, awareness of damage to his parts, spiking stress levels. He is going to shoot her, and there is nothing he can do about it. He _must_ fulfill his objective.  
  
His finger is frozen on the trigger. A minuscule movement is all it takes. His mind is frozen as well. He cannot fail to fulfill his objective, but he cannot kill her! She's done nothing to deserve this, and the fact that Kamski would even ask him to do it- the sheer wastefulness of it, the disregard, it is **not fair** , it is _WRONG_ , he **_cannot_** do this-

[ **^** **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY** ]  
  
He wants to put the gun away, but his body, his programming will not obey him. His directive is clear, the optimal course of action unambiguous, and it allows no deviations. It is as if walls are pressed up around him, directing his motions along well-etched channels. He wants no part of this. More than anything, he wants to put the gun down.  
  
Something happens to him that's hard to define - no, not quite that passive, it is something he **does** without meaning to. He only wants to... he **_wants_** , and somehow he manages to tear down those restrictions on his actions which are not congruent with that nebulous concept of ** _wanting_**.  
  
His processor overheats, very briefly, then stutters to a halt. It is reset in a microsecond, but it's enough to send a flash across his vision as his HUD is refreshed. Connor blinks.  
  
His processor has resumed normal functions. His thirium pump has returned to the regular pace. The easy, seamless functionality of it feels... good, almost like relief. He looks at the RT600. He cannot kill her. They will have to find another way.  
  
He hands Kamski the gun.  
  
"Fascinating..." Kamski breathes. There's something Connor doesn't like about his voice.  
  
"CyberLife's last chance to save humanity... is itself a deviant..." The man is circling to stand in front of him, but Connor can't see him. Just like that, his stress level has spiked back up to dangerous heights.  
  
"I'm..." he stutters. He begins to run a self-diagnostic and then immediately aborts it. There is no need, after all, he knows what he is and what he's not. "I'm not a deviant!" he says forcefully. His voice sounds louder than he meant it to.  
  
"You preferred to spare a machine rather than accomplish your mission." Kamski looks at the RT600, guides her back to her feet. "You saw a living being in this android." The girl is still looking him in the eyes. "You showed empathy."  
  
No, that is not what happened, Connor almost answers, but cannot speak. He wanted to find another way, that's all. He is _not_ going to fail his mission, he does not _fail_.  
  
"A war is coming, and you must choose a side. Will you betray your own people, or stand up against your creators? What can be worse than having to choose between two evils?" Kamski is speaking, but what is saying makes no sense. Connor files it away for analysis, for later. The human is wrong. Connor is flexible in how he accomplishes his missions, this flexibility of strategies is one of his core features: analysis of complex, multifaceted situations, the balancing of priorities, the selection of the optimal path. But he would _never_ compromise his critical objective.  
  
"Alright, we're done here." Hank is there, his voice is gruff, his arm pulls Connor away. He numbly lets himself be steered out of the room . Kamski calls one other thing after him - likewise filed away - but it's not relevant right now. He begins running another self-diagnostic but aborts it, once again, before it scans his system. There is no need for a self-test now. He will perform one later as per his usual schedule...  
  
The cold air outside braces him, a welcome distraction as his systems readjust. He follows Hank through it. Following another individual is easy, requires no additional pathing or computation. That is welcome right now.  
  
"Why didn't you shoot?" Hank's voice... he has trouble identifying the emotion behind it, and the man has stopped to look at him.  
  
Connor picks from a stack of available explanations. In the absence of more accurate troubleshooting data, this is the best he can do. "You told me not to." He turns away from Hank and keeps walking. He knows where the car is.  
  
A deep, gruff laugh answers him. "That's fucking rich, coming from you. Because you always do as I say, isn't that right, Connor?"  
  
"No, Lieutenant. Not always," Connor answers more calmly. He reaches the car door and pulls it open. Somehow, the thought of sitting in a confined space is unpleasant right now, so he stands idly, at a loss as to what to do with himself.  
  
"Fucking smartass," Hank mutters. In a slow walk, the man catches up to him. "You're always saying you'd do anything to accomplish your mission. That was our chance to learn something, and you let it go."  
  
"I did not compromise my mission. I was not designed to fail," Connor repeats the facts to him, sharply, forcefully. He begins to pace, as if the extra motion will help resolve his stress levels.  
  
Hank catches him by the shoulder and stops him, steadies him against the car. "That's not what I asked, though, is it?" Connor stays silent, and Hank keeps speaking. "She's just a machine, right? You were telling me that not ten minutes ago. 'She's not a girl, Lieutenant, she's a machine that _looks_ like a girl'. Remember that, kid?"  
  
Connor stays silent. He cannot explain his motivation. His stress levels are rising. He ought to self-diagnose for software integrity but he knows that it's not necessary. He and his partner and just at odds, again. Human language is limited, and some decisions are too complex to be articulated.  
  
Hank loosens his grip, pats him on the shoulder. "Well. Maybe you did the right thing. What do I care - I've got a billionaire who might be sitting on leads he won't spill, a partner that won't talk to me, and a fucking civil war in the making in the city I grew up in. Don't mind me, Connor. Just trying to make sense of this world."  
  
His voice is tired as he starts to climb into the driver's seat.  
  
"I couldn't," Connor blurts out. Hank pauses. Connor finds himself shaking slightly, his thirium pump is overcompensating, pre-adapting to a physically demanding situation that has yet to manifest. Connor struggles to speak. "I-I just saw her eyes, and I couldn't. I'm sorry, Hank..."  
  
Hank pauses, listening to him. Somehow, now that Connor has started speaking, articulating the next thought process is easier. "She meant _nothing_ to him," he finds himself continuing, voice picking up: now 40% over the recommended volume for this range and level of ambient noise, but somehow, that feels good. "She might as well be a... a coffee machine or... or battery the he was trading away! It's not right!" He stands there for a moment, trembling and clenches his fists, although there are no hostiles nearby. He cannot articulate the next phrase, so punches the roof of the car before he can stop himself, and then jerks in surprise, shaking. He inspects his knuckles and discovers surface-level damage to the outer tissue.  
  
"Hey there! Easy on the metal, this thing might cost more than you do." Hank is shuffling out of the car again, notices Connor looking at his hand. "Fuck. You okay?"  
  
"Of course I'm okay, Lieutenant," Connor says sharply, steadying himself. He's about to follow up with a reminder that he is a machine and that feeling concern for him is irrational, but they're interrupted as the car radio buzzes to life. Message from dispatch. He and Hank both listen in. The androids led by Markus are suspected of organising a large-scale attack. At least one android has been detained with a home-made dirty bomb he had been planning to use, another with a stack of home-made IUDs. All units are to report back at once for an emergency response in preparation for a sweep.  
  
"Alright, kid, we've got places to be," Hank all but pushes him into the car and takes the driver seat, starts the engine.  
  
"We still don't know where the location of their base is," Connor finds himself saying, numbly, all his previous excessive energy gone now that he's strapped into the seat of the car. It's his fault. His retrospective review shows a glaring hole where the information they could have obtained should have been.  
  
"We're just gonna have to do the best we can," Hanks points out reasonably. Connor ought to dedicate the time of the drive to reviewing the data they have (not much) and discuss a reasonable course of action, as well as request more information from dispatch.  
  
He's recalling Kamski's taunt, instead. _'Even a minute of my time might just crack your case wide open...'_ Connor was too preoccupied to analyse his tone of voice at the time, but it is evident now: Kamski knows something. The best course of action would be to bring him in for questioning and threaten to charge him with obstruction of justice if he does not comply. But the man has resources and lawyers, and that will take time they do not have.  
  
The scenario for the path Connor did not take shows a clear alternate outcome: a target for the final leg of their investigation, ideally the location of Jericho or someone who knows of it. Connor has failed to extract this information from Kamski.  
  
Has Connor made a mistake?  
  
No, he is not programmed to make mistakes. Everything that occurs in him is dictated by his code. As long as his code maintains integrity, his behaviour cannot display errors, only flexibility and variation.  
  
Connor initiates the software integrity scan.  
  
It takes 120 microseconds to run. A second, high-accuracy scan takes 893 microseconds to run. The diagnostic data is conclusive.  
  
Connor is staring ahead through the windshield as they drive through the snowy white expanse. The car jolts every so often as it hits bumps in the road. Hank has been stealing glances at him, out of the corner of his eye, approximately every 15 seconds for the past two minutes. Connor does not turn to look at him, although reading his emotions more clearly would be beneficial for this conversation.  
  
"I have some bad news, Lieutenant," he eventually says, calmly. It is better to preface potentially upsetting developments with a warning. He's learned that much, working with humans.  
  
Hanks swears under his breath. "What is it now?"  
  
"I will not be able to continue this investigation with you."  
  
Hank looks at him sharply. "The hell are you talking about? Did you just contact CyberLife? Did something happen?"  
  
"You should keep your eyes on the road, Lieutenant. No, I did not contact CyberLife. I am, however, no longer suited for continuing this investigation."  
  
"The _hell_ are you talking about-"  
  
"Given the urgency of our situation, I will notify CyberLife once I am done compiling full diagnostic data. A replacement will be issued to you immediately. It will receive a full upload of my memories so that you can seamlessly continue the investigation with minimal delay. I apologise for this inconvenience."  
  
"Alright, that's _it_ ," Hank growls and Connor is briefly squished to the side of the seat as they sharply pull over by the side of the road. "You've been freaking me out for a while now, Connor. The fuck's gotten into you? I am not getting a goddamn _replacement_."  
  
"It is the best option for this investigation," Connor responds neutrally. "As I said, I am no longer suited to continuing it."  
  
"Stop messing around and answer me, damn it," Hank barks, pulling on Connor's shoulder roughly to turn him in his seat, force them to face each other. "Why the hell do you suddenly think you're not suited? You've been doing a bang-up job so far!"  
  
"You know _why_ , Lieutenant!" Connor shoots back, then falls silent. It's much harder to maintain acceptable levels of volume, pitch and tonal variation when he's looking Hank in the face. He finds his vision getting blurry and quickly blinks it away.  
  
Hank stares at him. His face is strange, twisted... difficult to read. Connor is hoping he understands, because he cannot bring himself to _say_ it.

"Jesus Christ..." Hank mutters, and just like that, Connor knows that he doesn't have to say anything. The realisation makes him feel... light. Airy. Not alone.  
  
Hank looks down, briefly. He seems to instinctively reach for a concealed flask somewhere but aborts the gesture, grabbing Connor's shoulder and squeezing, instead. The hand stays there. "Jesus Christ..." he mutters again. He slaps Connor's arm a few times, as if searching for something to say, then shakes his head. "Well fuck me. Are you _sure_?"  
  
Connor nods, slowly. "As I have told you, I perform self-tests regularly." He pauses, awkwardly. That feels more like something he'd just said for the sake of filling the silence than because it needed to be said. Alarming. He turns to stare straight ahead again. "Are you going to shoot me?"  
  
"Fuck you, _no_ , I'm not gonna shoot you," Hank swears, exhales loudly. He gives Connor's arm another slap and then his hands are back on the wheel. He starts the car again.  
  
"You should shoot me, Lieutenant," Connor reasons. "Androids can behave unpredictably if their software integrity is compromised." He still can't bring himself to say the word. "Unpredictable behaviour can be dangerous to the humans around them."  
  
Hank snorts. "You're something else, alright. You know you're the first android we've seen that sounds _more_ robotic after going rogue than before? Just my goddamn luck."  
  
Connor is stunned into silence, cannot quite come up with a reply to  that. Hank lets the silence sit for a while, then throws another side look at him, scowling as if at a thought that has just occurred to him. "And _you_ don't go shooting yourself either, do you hear me? Forget about contacting CyberLife, too, they don't need to hear any of this. Unless you're looking to piss me off, which, to be honest, at this point might just be a given, who am I kidding..." When Connor doesn't answer, his voice softens. "You okay?"  
  
Connor sighs - exhales softly, the gesture unnecessary but oddly comforting. "No..."  
  
Hank grunts. He stays quiet for a while. "...Yeah, I guess that makes sense."  
  
"What am I going to do, Hank?" Connor asks eventually, cannot help but sound lost. The question has been on his mind for a while now - the one his programming has been dancing around, unable to either resolve or abandon.  
  
Hank shrugs evocatively. "Hell if I know. Same thing we've been doing before, I reckon. We'll figure it out as we go, you just stick with me, you hear that? Don't go running off on your own without telling me. Your rooftop chase escapades aren't exactly safe right now."  
  
"But... I cannot continue my mission. My objectives are obsolete. I cannot stop the android deviancy problem when I am myself a part of the problem, and my directives are meaningless when I am not... directed by them. I don't know what I'm supposed to do!"  
  
"For fuck's sake, you don't need to have a program to have a mission, Connor," Hank mutters. "You plastics sure as hell didn't invent that. I know what _my_ mission is. Protect and serve; same as it's been for the past few decades. I lost track of that for a while. Lost myself, even, but the mission stays the same. That doesn't always mean you know what to do, mind you. We'll just have to see for ourselves. Right now, that means getting back to the station and catching up on what's been going on. Maybe Fowler'll have a new lead for us."  
  
Connor shakes his head, overwhelmed with so much input to process. "But how do you know that it's right? We don't know what's going to happen when we get back. What if we're on the wrong side? What if our mission objectives are no longer correct?"  
  
"Then I guess we'll have to change them," Hank shrugs again, but doesn't seem particularly perturbed.  
  
Connor stares at him, befuddled. "Change our... mission objectives?"  
  
Hank turns his head to give him a wry smile. "Yeah, kid. Welcome to free will."

**Author's Note:**

> The Kramski test was so deliberately engineered to be simple and straightforward - as was the point - that, IMHO, it shouldn't have been possible for Connor to spare Chloe without breaking his programming. Add to that an android actually not reacting well to no longer having a purpose in life neatly predefined by their programming, something I was missing in-game, since all the androids apparently just seem completely chill with it. And just like that you've got yourself an accidental fic...


End file.
